


A Paradise Lost

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Hobbits, M/M, Male Protagonist, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Polyamory, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-04
Updated: 2008-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	A Paradise Lost

It seemed odd, considering that they've been practically inseparable since they were reunited in Cormallen, that the cousins hadn't had that much time for themselves since. Or rather, it wasn't that there hadn't been time - as filled as it was with journeying and eating, there were moments stretching into forever, walking the fields and forests, dining and discussions with tall and beautiful people. They'd met more and stranger celebrants than Shire markets could offer.

What they hadn't had time for, it seemed, was for their old selves, for privacy. Frodo and Sam had theirs, in quiet looks and smiles, the transformation of their mutual love to something stronger and more established; and Merry and Pippin had theirs: their journey together there between them, fresh in their memories, and new pledges and affirmations that mostly remained unspoken.

But Merry and Frodo and Pippin, they hadn't been what they were, in the past; and, looking at Frodo, Pippin had wondered if that wasn't gone forever: that play and passion that had formed such a part of his love and companionship with his favourite cousin.

But here, in Rivendell, during their extended stop on their long journey home, there was time.

The elves of Rivendell built their doorways wide and never barred them, their windows were tall and open, and a breeze ran through the halls. Sounds muted among the passages, sunlight mottled the floors. It wasn't something a hobbit was likely to get used to, but beautiful it was, and these hobbits had spent a year sleeping outdoors. It was comfortable enough, familiar enough, and private enough.

After nightfall, it almost seemed like home, even though the bed was so big, but then, they did use up the space nicely.

Sweat glowed on Frodo's shoulder where a moonbeam struck it, painting it white against the blue shadows on his chest. The light shifted as he moved, rolling up against Pippin. Sweetness – the thumping, rising, retreating, returning rhythm of sex. Pippin had missed it so, his old Frodo, his playmate, his beloved, and he groaned in bliss. Behind the pleasure, there was this wholly deeper joy; in the night, Frodo's scars disappeared, and the years fell off them like silk sheets. Merry was there beside them, and Pippin pulled him down for a kiss, and felt like he had everything in the world that he could possibly want, and the happiest of all endings.

The grip of Frodo's fingers on his waist tightened and fingernails buried into his flesh, bringing sharp pain in amongst the pleasure. There was a touch of pain, too, it seemed, in Frodo's moan; his pace picked up, fast, hard; he lifted Pippin's hips and pushed in hard, faster. Pippin's breath picked up, too, and Merry's hand found his member, tightened around it. It was getting nearer. Frodo had picked up his legs, and Pippin felt his mouth, wet and hot, against his knee, his thigh. Pippin arched his back…

Sharp pain, shooting down his leg. Pippin cried out in pain and shock, but he was coming into Merry's hand as he did, and the sensations mingled. The flesh on his thigh, next to his knee, throbbed. Frodo had bit him – hard.

There was a slight dark trickle down Frodo's chin, in the white and blue and black in which the world was painted, and a glow about the whites of his eyes; his expression was lost in shadow. He was still pumping into Pippin. (Merry, unaware, kissed Pippin's neck, mistaking its strained angle and the rattle of his breath for some aftershocks of pleasure.)

Frodo hissed – hissed, and it barely sounded like a hobbit sound, or a human sound; his hand lashed out, and fingernails scratched red lines on Pippin's chest. He lifted Pippin's thigh to his head and lapped at the blood; growled, and came, his seed spreading warm and sticky inside his cousin.

He collapsed on top of Pippin, then, passing out almost immediately.

Merry looked at Pippin's chest, his knee, and there was horror on his face; and something more; a sadness, profound, and fleeting; it was soon covered up. They covered up Frodo, too, and left him there; quietly bandaged Pippin, and went to sleep in their own beds. The next morning, Frodo's eyes were puffy and tired and red, and what had happened was not mentioned again.

It was gone, gone, what they had had; gone, and Pippin and Merry slept together from that time on, wrapped around each other, trying to forget that they were two parts of a three-part whole that would never be mended again.


End file.
